A couple days ago, my wife and I were discussing my writing. I hate discussing my writing, actually. You know how it is. My ideas, the things that consume my thoughts every day. Me, me, me. I mean, of course I prefer not to talk about my writing. But she made me. Really, she did.
Okay. So, she didn't make me. Truth is, she gets tired of me talking about my writing, about some new ingenious story idea I came up with. She is very gracious, however, and doesn't roll her eyes at me. Usually.
But anyhow, a couple days ago we were, in fact, discussing my writing, and she told me that I only know how to write about superheroes.
"That's not true!" I said, pretending to be hurt.
I mean, it wasn't true. I can write about more than superheroes. But, there was a bit of truth in her comment, because the fact is, I love to write about superheroes. And a great many stories that I start out writing intending to be speculative in nature do end up with an angle that could at least be construed as superhero related.
Case in point, the story that was just accepted for publication (date of publication yet to be determined) is a superhero story. And I have another story my wife read called Choice, that is a superhero story. And Mindburst could easily be considered a superhero story.
What can I say? I love superheroes. I spent my childhood either pretending to be a superhero, or...well, I guess that's about it. Everything we played as kids seemed to be tied to superheroes in some way. So, it is only natural that I write about them.
But I like all kinds of superheroes. X-Men, Superman, and Spiderman, of course. But also the very intellectual angle portrayed in M. Knight Shamaylan's film, Unbreakable.
Anyhow, I figured I needed to prove my wife wrong and write a story that was undeniably not a superhero story. So I started working on one. Here is an excerpt from this story, which is a work in progress:
I sat in silence, hoping and praying it was my imagination. Yet their silence told me I had every reason to be afraid. They were going to do something to me. They would transform into bullies for no other reason than because they could. They would have their fun, and when it was all over, the two of them would laugh as though it was nothing but a harmless game. But something was different this time. Something within myself. I could feel it deep down, but not label it. Something powerful. And I wouldn't know what it was until it was too late.
See the last sentence in that paragraph? Do you know what it means? It means that along the way to writing this story, it turned into a superhero story.
Whatever you do, please don't tell my wife. She'll tell me, "I told you so." I hate it when people say, "I told you so." It implies that I was wrong. And clearly, that can't be.
*Sigh*
